I have a problem with the bubbler at work.The drinking fountain.(Bubbler is a trademarked name that refers to a drinking fountain; people in the Upper Midwest still refer to drinking fountains as bubblers.)I’ve stopped my bottled water consumption. Several times a day, I fill up my liter Sigg water bottle – the cool red aluminum one – and drink my fill.(No, I am not drinking out of my fuel bottle; this comment ceased to be funny after the first time you said it to me.)The bubbler in the office is chilled and it’s hooked up to a purifier – part of a former publisher’s push for her scribes to be more healthy.The fountain sits outside the break room, near the main bathrooms.When you’re filling up your bottle, and someone flushes a toilet, the stream fluctuates.Now I know logically that it’s all a water-pressure thing.But there’s just something creepy about it.

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I peed on my dog.Rather, my dog ran underneath the stream, like a kid playing in the sprinkler, and I was powerless to stop her (or the stream).I had like five iced teas at lunch and filled my water bottle with toilet water twice Tuesday afternoon. I got home, mowed the lawn, then decided to take the girls for a walk.In the 24-acre, wooded field across the street.Nature called. In an industrial way.I was in a wooded part of the lot, well away from the street.(The world is a man’s urinal.)I whipped me out and started to go.That’s when I realized that Scully was vectoring in at a pretty good clip. I caught her from snout to tail, straight down her right side.(No it is not possible to just ‘stop the stream.’)She looked up at me like, “What the hell did you do that for?”And shook herself off.My dogs have been with me on trails, on beaches, on long snowshoe hikes over snow. They know that sometime, I’ve gotta go too. Usually, they give me a wide birth.“Dumbass, that was your own fault,” I said.And took her home, wiped her down with a soapy towel, and spritzed her with some doggie body spray.

My dane is a leaner... she will sneak up right next to you and lean on your leg in the hopes of getting a pat or scratch. I take them (and me) out for a pee right before bed in the back yard every night. The other night she chose a very inopportune moment to walk right in front of me and lean in. Somehow I managed to not piss on her, but it was really close.

Thom Gabrukiewicz is both a communicator and a writer of flash fiction. Most of what he writes is kind of dark, with occasional forays into the light.
He’s a winner of some awards and has covered two Winter Olympics. He’s also written a guidebook about hiking with dogs.
He’s fiercely loyal and has a malevolent side that seems to visit less and less. He’s both a hopeless romantic and a realist.
He's currently working on community wellness issues in Wyoming.